


Orange You Glad You Saw the Doctor?

by ArgylePirateWD



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-25 18:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20916599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/pseuds/ArgylePirateWD
Summary: Who still believes hysteria is a thing?





	Orange You Glad You Saw the Doctor?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).

The whole thing seemed like a scam from the get-go, really. Hysteria—who the fuck still believes hysteria is a thing? But Leslie was intrigued despite herself, and in the middle of a dry spell, so, hey, why not get some of her needs fulfilled by an expert?

The dildo is huge, a thick and satisfying length of orange silicone that slides inside with a slick and obscene and wet sound, consuming her with a tight stretch that's just on the edge of pain. She groans as it slips deeper and deeper, until its reached its limit and Dr. Smith's gloved fingers brush against her cunt. He withdraws it again, wringing an annoyed whine from the depths of her like he's pulling it physically from her throat, and then he makes her moan again when he thrusts it back inside.

"I'm hoping this shall cure your condition," he says, his rich voice coiling around her sensitized brain like lush velvet. It's one of the worst British accents she's ever heard, but he's got a killer voice, and he's a good-looking fraud, with dark eyes and brown curls and the scruffy sort of stubble that would leave the best kind of burns between her thighs if he wasn't acting so damn professional about fucking her with a garish orange dildo. And he knows what he's doing. Her blood burns, her belly tightening with bright, hot need that goes even hotter with every thrust of the toy. "It's for your own good, Ms. Taylor."

And, oh, how good it is. Every push of the thick toy is almost too much, almost _excruciating_, leaves her shaking and making shameless, throaty sounds of pleasure between ragged gasps for breaths. She's close, so close, right on the edge of something bigger and better, yet not close enough.

"I hope you're paying close attention," Dr. Smith says. "You may need to treat your condition yourself at some poi—fuck, you're exquisite." His real accent slips out then. American, unsurprisingly. She doesn't care much. "Look at you, how you're taking this. You're doing so well. But I think it could be better, don't you?"

That sounds promising, she thinks, nodding vigorously, her sweat-damp red hair falling in her face. Dr. Smith grins, a sly and smug curl of his lips as he says, "Let's make you feel better," and presses on the base of the toy.

It's not a dildo after all.

The vibration hits like a shock, like a punch. In an instant, she's coming, hard and wet, hips arching off the table, toes curling, voice breaking in a silent cry of pleasure beyond comprehension. That. Yes, that. That is what she needed.

In the end, Dr. Smith leaves her with the toy and his business card, telling her to call him again if her condition does not improve. Leslie lasts two days before pulling out her phone and making another appointment.


End file.
